


Those were on your phone

by bluebells



Series: Somewhere to Begin [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Adam is aroused and confused, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Humour, I write this for my own amusement, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex Tape, The accidental sex tape that Castiel brought back on future!Adam's phone, Time Travel, Who better to teach you about your preferences than you?, Yeah Michael wasn't joking about those videos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9833252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: “This phone did not fucking come from me!”“Then it's from Michael. That is, it’s from the future. Why are you upset? Does it not work? Did it run out of battery? We might be able to find a charging cable....”“It....” Adam can feel his face burning and he’s run out of words. He doesn’t know what to do with this new information, only that this phone has offended him and his whole worldview.- OR -A post-script wherein Adam in "rebooted" verse (following events of 'Somewhere to Begin') discovers that he and his (im)mortal enemy made a sex tape in the alternate timeline.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In this timestamp, Adam and Team Free Will are still working towards making peace, love and a little less war now that Uriel/Sariel's curse is broken and time is linear again. They've been equipped with a few clues from the alternate timeline where they (mostly) succeeded via Castiel's Survivor's Kit for Averting the Apocalypse. Today's item: Adam's old cell phone that was referred to in chapter 9 of _Somewhere to Begin_ :
> 
>     “They’re playing everything on your phone. Um. Are they all… safe?”  
> Michael frowns slowly. “What do you mean ‘safe’?”  
> Adam hisses a tight breath of exasperation and manages not to roll his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Safe from stuff of you and me?”  
> Michael looks at him like he’s an idiot and it’s not the response Adam was hoping for. “It’s my phone: eighty percent of it was you and I.”  
> Adam curses that the angel couldn’t get a hint and he resists the urge to smack his own forehead. “I mean, personal stuff. Of you and me.”  
> Michael’s frown only deepens and he tilts his head like Adam was speaking to him in tongues. “Having sex?” Except, apparently Michael did understand.  
> “Sex?” Lucifer calls out, ears perked up, and Adam wishes for a moment that the ground would open up and swallow him, in spite of the droll look Michael shoots over Adam’s shoulder.  
> “Of course not,” Michael finally says, meeting his eye with a smooth shrug, and Adam breathes out in relief, “Those were on your phone.”  
> "You—what?” Adam’s brain short-circuits. Holy shit, where did he leave his phone? He had a phone? Why didn’t anyone tell him this?  
> “That was a joke.”
> 
> //
> 
> Except, not really a joke.

It’s a surreal feeling, discovering sex tapes on someone else’s phone. Stunning, when you realise you’re one of the star features, but you have no memory of being involved. What starts as surreal can sink into a sick, betrayed sort of shock, as Adam learns when he discovers the cell phone at the bottom of the bag Castiel had pressed to his stomach all those weeks ago.

“This is yours,” Castiel told him, blue eyes intensely bright. “Don’t share it with anyone. Not even your brothers. If you can.”

The phone is roughly the same rectangular shape as the spare ammunition clips that occupied the bulk of the bag. No wonder he missed it. It’s an older model with a smaller view screen made for function, not form. But the screen is large enough and the resolution is sharp: there is no mistaking his own face grinning back at him in amusement, hair mussed, expression honeyed with pleasure. Hearing his own laugh from the thin speakers makes Adam’s shoulders tense. His eyes dart around the narrow space of his room, his meagre belongings and research strewn over the oaken desk.

In the soft, yellow light of his only sanctuary, the door is still locked. Adam pushes himself further into the corner of his bed, tucking his knees to his chest, shoulders braced against the wall’s cold tiles. He can’t bear to turn the volume up beyond the lowest measure.

 _“The hell are you doing?”_ His double, his counterpart, laughs in the video, soft and fond in a way that makes his gut clench. When was the last time he found someone who could make him laugh like he wasn’t being hunted?

He really needs to invest in a pair of headphones.

He crowds the phone almost to his face lest the walls themselves have eyes. Hell, knowing the supernatural company of this group, they probably did. It’s two in the morning. His brothers may not be asleep, but they would sure be staying out of his business at this time of night.

Adam shakes his head, glaring at the incriminating impossibility in his hands.

 _When_ did this happen? How the fuck....? And _who_ the fuck was in this with....

 _"What are you doing? Put the phone down.”_ In the video, Adam’s voice is muffled, audio streaming a series of thumps as the phone is fumbled, turned. _“Are you... no... are you seriously recording?"_

The video tilts away, Adam’s filmed self arching his neck to follow as the phone is set to rest presumably against the bed’s headboard above him. Something clicks and the image stabilises as though the phone had been set into a stand. The new vantage reveals the full length of the bed: a desk that’s half study and half clothes dresser on one side. At the end of the bed, Adam sees the dark shape of a door. Beside it, a large painting above a bureau: whatever shapes swirl on its canvas are too dark, too distant for the phone to capture, but it glitters like sand and gold in the low light.

On the bed, Adam is sprawled on his back, buck naked, thighs wide, hard cock curled against his stomach. Adam might have flushed in embarrassment… if he could tear his eyes away from the dark-haired man settling back between Adam’s thighs.

His chest tightens, blood chilling.

 _"For your morning after,"_ Michael mouths in the curve of his neck with a smirk Adam is more accustomed to seeing before the death threats start to fly. Possession clings in the kisses Adam watches the angel lick, then nibble into his skin, betraying his hunger when they bruise. Adam watches himself groan with relish, pushing fingers through the angel’s short hair, down the gleaming skin of his back, over muscles and white scars Adam has never seen, could have never imagined.

It is so fucking surreal.

Why the fuck is his film self enjoying this? “Adam. Get up. Get off the bed and get the fuck out of there,” he wants to tell himself.

 _“Fuck me well enough to remember; I won’t need a sex tape.”_ He feels himself wince at the unabashed arch of his counterpart when Michael anchors himself with arms tucked beneath Adam's back. He crowds close against Adam’s body, smiling into Adam’s own shit-eating grin, a soft, unfamiliar laugh shared in the thin air between them. One of Michael’s hands palms Adam’s thigh, lifting his leg to splay him wider, and Adam realises he’s shaking his head, can’t believe what he’s seeing, that unmistakable way Michael pulls back the barest distance, looking down to the shadows between their bodies to adjust himself and --

Adam can’t watch. It’s almost worse that he doesn’t look. His face burns hearing his breath hitch, the bleated whimper of need, imagining too vividly how his whole body all but surges up against the angel, reeling and clinging.

Had they done this before? How many times?

 _“Relax, baby.”_ The soft sound of a kiss, then another. The endearment twists an uncomfortable knot in Adam’s stomach. It’s too intimate, too… something. _“Open up for… that’s it. Breathe with me,”_ Michael murmurs, words muffled like they’re nuzzled into skin, fond and hungry. Fond. That’s a weird word to associate with the psychopath.

Adam swallows moisture down the dry vice of his throat. He forces himself to look and his fingers white-knuckle around the phone as he catches the moment the long, lean lines of Michael coil with strength, the whole bed shaking when his hips snap into Adam.

 _“Ah, fuck!”_ Adam hears himself gasp, curling against the angel to brace himself, fingers bruising into the thick muscle of Michael’s shoulders.

 _“That’s it,”_ Michael’s voice roughens, encouraging him. His hand pushes up Adam’s back to tangle in his hair as he draws out. Adam’s chest heaves a whimper of protest before Michael shoves in again, driving the air out of Adam in a sharp, pitched cry. Head thrown back, eyes shut. Michael drinks in the sight of him like a dying man trying not to betray his thirst. He grits his teeth, breathes out, _“Just... like that.”_

The sheer _want_ in the angel’s expression makes Adam bite his tongue hard. Makes him nervous. Does Michael… his Michael look at him that way? Does he think about Adam… like this?

He’s enthralled as he watches himself and Michael succumb to a hard, forceful rhythm. Michael pulls back just enough to watch himself all but saw between Adam’s thighs and there’s enough light to catch the swollen length of him split Adam over and over, then faster and _“Harder, please,”_ he watches himself whine -- _whining_ for this angel, this motherfucking, mass-murdering asshole.

Who was apparently doing one thing right.

Spectating, Adam has to remind himself to breathe. The slick, wet sounds are obscene, the slap of skin against skin ringing in his ears as the bed creaks and whines, and Michael presses him down, down, down, the angel’s breaths coming short. But then something tilts, Adam hears it in his voice before he watches himself paw at the angel’s shoulder, pleading, _“Please, I can’t. I can’t--”_

Adam isn’t sure what he hates more: the fact that his counterpart lacks the shame (he should never ask Michael for anything, that’s just the way the world works, Michael doesn’t deserve a ‘please’), or the fact that Michael doesn’t hesitate to lean down, muffling his pleas with a searing kiss, cradling the side of Adam’s face.

Adam stares. Who the fuck is this -- this tender, intent thing wearing that asshole’s face? This is not Michael.

 _“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,”_ Michael reassures him, brushing another kiss to his lips when he pushes a hand down Adam’s chest to close around Adam’s cock. Adam’s hips jolt with a hot groan and Michael takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth in a smouldering, open-mouthed kiss.

The sound of Michael moaning, pleased but still wanting, is a noise that Adam knows will haunt him to his grave.

Watching, Adam is horrified to feel his own cock twitch in sympathy. His vision glazes over as he feels himself throb. White noise rings in his ears as his world rearranges into the mortifying realisation that he is hard within his jeans. Jesus. No. This isn’t happening.

 _“No, don’t....”_ He hears himself whimper, bringing him back to the nightmare of his present.

 _“Come on, baby,”_ Michael is saying. When he can focus again, the camera angle has tilted. The phone must have finally shifted on its rest because the vantage of the two men is now slightly off-center. Adam instead has an unparalleled view of that canvas on the opposite wall of the room with its glittering sand; of the two men from the chest down, and by some mercy, his counterpart’s face is no longer in frame.

There is motion on the bed and Michael has sat back on his heels. With an annoyed twist of spite, Adam has to admit - no matter how fucking awful he is as a person, Michael is also fucking hot. Did he make it a point of only choosing vessels that used their gym membership?

He shoves the thought away as his heart thunders in his chest at the sight of Michael tugging Adam’s hips higher into his lap and kneeling over him. A hand leans his weight on the bed beside Adam’s head. Adam’s mouth waters, noting that the angel’s own thick thighs keep Adam splayed wide. He finds it in himself to hate Michael just a little more when he sees the full length and girth of Michael’s cock, dark and gleaming wet between Adam’s thighs as he lines himself up again, visibly rutting against the seam of him. A small whimper of need bubbles into his awareness, and Adam isn’t sure if it’s from him or his video counterpart.

Because of course Michael’s bigger than Adam. Of course. Fucking piece of shit.

 _“Why the fuck are you teasing me so much today?”_ Adam hears himself whine, arching up to try and meet the angel’s gentle grind against his ass.

 _“... It occurs to me I spoil you too much,_ ” Michael says, as though he’s reflecting on simple geometry.

Adam watches his counterpart’s expression twist in disbelief and confusion. _“What?”_

_“This video should help tide you over when I can’t be here.”_

Adam stares at the man between his thighs like he’s grown a second head. _“Okay, now you’re teasing me. What are you talking about?”_

_“You have to be reminded. I’m the sword of Heaven, the General of Heaven’s armies. I have other responsibilities than just keeping you fucked and happy, you know.”_

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Adam’s chest, thinned by his need, but unworried all the same. He pushes himself up on his forearms to brush a kiss beneath Michael's eye, then the other. _“But you’re so good at it. Please, Mike, I’m… I was so close. And you’re retired.”_

Michael does something Adam can’t see that makes his counterpart yelp, body jerking. His expression is chastising. _“An angel is never retired.”_

Adam croons even as he chases Michael’s hands, forcing his wrists to Adam’s stomach where he can see them. _“Aw, do you miss killing people? Breaking things? Your family business?”_

 _“Don’t make light of this,”_ Michael cups Adam's chin gently. Adam doesn't shrug out of the hold, rolling his eyes with a sigh.

_“Babe, there’s always going to be something bad out there that needs ganking. I’m not stopping you. Hell, you’re probably one of the best people to do it. So, go.”_

Michael’s stare lingers, searching Adam’s face hesitantly. _“Really?”_

 _“Yeah, but… not right now.”_ Adam frowns. _“You didn’t just bait me into bed so I’d agree you can go back to work, did you?”_

 _“No!”_ Michael answers, a little too quickly, rubbing at Adam’s stomach.

 _“You’re unbelievable.”_ Adam rolls his eyes, gently exasperated. _“I didn’t think you needed my permission for that stuff. Like you said: an angel is never retired.”_

 _“I’m glad we agree,”_ Michael smiles, a startling genuine thing that their spectator is wholly unprepared for, especially when his counterpart winds his arms around the angel’s neck with reciprocal fondness.

 _“But don’t bring me back trophies, that’s freaky.”_ Adam pulls himself up by his arms, rolling his hips against the hard column of the cock at his ass with a soft hum of contentment. His lips brush the hollow of Michael’s throat, and Adam sees the angel swallow thickly even though he was literally balls deep minutes ago. _“Just come back in one piece so I can tell everyone I still get to fuck myself on the sword of Heaven. Now hurry up before I have to stretch myself all over again.”_

 _“I don’t exist just for your pleasure.”_  


Adam cocks an eyebrow. _“Not always. But how about right now? You going to help me feel good, Michael? Should I say your real name so you can have it back and fuck me with all your real strength? I think you’re going to need it. You think you know me because you’ve been inside me, inside my head, but you don’t know half of what I can take.”_

 _“You little....”_ Michael’s hands drag free of Adam’s grip, squeezing his thighs, tugging him forward off the pillows and yanking his ass higher in the air against his thighs. _“That mouth is going to get you killed again one day.”_

 _“‘Again’.”_ Braced on his shoulders, Adam barks out a laugh. His voice affects a breathy, fake whine. _“Oh, please, General. Give me your sword. I can’t protect myself… I need your strength. Need to feel it inside me.”_

Michael stiffens, growling a deep note in his chest. For a moment, Adam glimpses the murderous destroyer of nations in his expression and genuinely worries for his counterpart, but then Michael tilts Adam’s thigh and slams back into him, liquid smooth and heavy. Adam watches himself choke on his laughter like the air has been punched out of him, arching off the bed with a shock. For a long moment, he hangs there, gasping and crowded against the shelter of Michael's trembling body.

 _"Shit."_ Adam's voice catches, shuddering to adjust, eyes sliding shut for a moment in bliss. _“Oh… shit.”_ Watching his chest heave, Adam wonders how deep it feels, what the stretch is like, remembers the ghost pressure it can put on his chest when he feels so fucking full, he’s struggling to breathe --

 _“Fuck, you take me so well,”_ Michael is groaning, letting Adam bear the new press of his weight, almost folding Adam’s body in half. He pins Adam with a hand on his chest while the other strokes up under Adam’s knee to drag his thigh up and around his waist. When Michael slams in from this new angle, keeps thrusting, the force of it makes Adam buck and wail.

 _“Shit… Mike! Mike… ha - ahhhh, ah!”_ Adam’s hands fly to Michael’s nape and shoulder, short nails digging in.

Michael’s gaze is dark, leisurely possessive, raking up the length of Adam to drink in the sight of his vessel twisting beneath him in the sheets, as if Adam’s body is confused between trying to press closer or pull away.

Fucking hell. So that’s what that looks like.

On the one hand, it’s kind of hot watching himself get fucked by someone who looks like they know what they’re doing, who can hold him on their cock and make him sob for it. Just judging by the way he watches his thighs fall open, neck arching back... Adam knows what it takes for his breaths to come that ragged and fast, can only imagine how it must feel if he needs to hold on that tight, his muscles cording in the low, warm light and.... Damn. He didn’t even know he was capable of making some of those noises.

Why the fuck did it have to be Michael?

 _“You’re gorgeous,”_ the angel moans low in his chest, a note of awe and wonder in his voice, earning him a throaty laugh from the other man. Undeterred, Michael crowds even closer, settling on his elbow by Adam’s head and reaches for Adam’s dripping cock. As Michael rolls his hips, he strokes from the base to the pearling slit at its head. He smears the precum there with his thumb, forcing Adam to whimper with a sound bordering on pain.

Watching, Adam feels his own cock throb.

 _“Look at me,”_ Michael coaxes, nuzzling Adam’s ear, his cheek. Kisses the corner of his mouth, but Adam is lost. The motion of his hand between them speeds up and Adam flinches with an urgent whimper.

 _“Ah, fuck… can't....”_ Adam watches himself cry, hands flying to fist in the sheets.

Adam will not touch himself. He fucking refuses, but if he has to press the heel of one hand against the aggravating bulge in his jeans, he’ll forgive himself later.

 _“Adam… baby....”_ He watches Michael crush their mouths together, watches Michael’s tongue trail the roof of his mouth and leave him gasping. He breathes words into Adam’s mouth too low to hear, nuzzling against his lips. Eventually, Adam nods, shaking and panting. His eyes crack open and he meets the angel’s gaze with a fierce shudder, clutching tight to Michael like a life raft.

The piston of Michael’s hips never ceases and he strokes Adam to a low howl of release, pitching forward to bury his face in Michael’s neck. Adam watches his back arch, hips jerking in Michael’s vice grip as he’s cradled, sheltered, and fucked through his orgasm. He studies the pleasure of it flinch across Michael’s expression, the ecstasy of warm, wet constriction clenching around him; the angel’s slow, satisfied smile as Adam comes down shuddering, gasping. He looks so fucking human. Adam watches Michael finally release the thighs around his hips, gently lowering them to the mattress, squeezing to massage the strained muscles. Sucking the seed off his thumb with a rumbling growl, Michael bends to lave the white stripes from the sharp lines of Adam’s stomach, his chest.

Michael’s teeth tug on Adam’s nipple when Michael pins him to the mattress with his weight, soothing the sting with soft kisses. Adam is a pliant, murmuring tangle of limbs when Michael draws his wrists into a secure hold above his head, bringing them skin-to-skin. He watches the angel grind his way to his own release with heavy, languid rolls of his hips, nibbling on Adam’s neck, sucking Adam’s lower lip into his mouth, and Adam is just beginning to whimper with oversensitivity.…

Adam stops the video, rushing to turn off the phone. Clutched tightly in his hands, he sucks in a shaky breath. He can't bear to watch Michael find his release, least of all in his body. Even if it's not... _his_.

His pulse roars in his ears, his body flushing with heat of embarrassed arousal, fury and… fuck, the way he aches remembering how his spine bowed as Michael drove into him… it feels like jealousy.

He really needs to get laid.

///

“Who the fuck’s phone is this?”

Castiel blinks up at Adam from his study of blueprints in the bunker. “Phone? Your face is red. Are you sick? Were you running?”

“Where did you get this?” Adam demands, shaking the offensive object clenched in his hand.

Castiel frowns at him. “Whose phone is it?”

“I'm asking you!”

“Why are you upset?”

Adam grasps the phone like he can hardly bare to hold it but he can't relinquish it either. “There is shit on here that… isn't possible.”

“What? Let me see.”

“No!”

Castiel looks gently irritated and confused, the story of his life. “Adam. I can't help if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam sets his jaw and holds the phone out, but still beyond the angel's reach. “I found this in the bag with the spare ammo for the gun you gave me.”

Castiel blinks, glancing away as he connects the dots with a shrug of effort. “Then it belongs to you.”

“This phone did not fucking come from me!”

“Then it's from Michael. That is, it’s from the future. Why are you upset? Does it not work? Did it run out of battery? We might be able to find a charging cable....”

“It....” Adam can feel his face burning and he’s run out of words. He doesn’t know what to do with this new information, only that this phone has offended him and his whole worldview.

Michael is not sexy. It is not allowed. Because now, the next time Adam sees Michael, and the asshole is promising to burn Adam and everyone he knows alive, Adam’s instead going to be thinking about what Michael looks like when that glare is single-mindedly focused between his thighs where he's fucking into Adam beneath him (or above him - really, any way Michael wants him). Adam's going to be preoccupied thinking about the criminally luscious sight that are the muscles in Michael’s back rolling like a wave, how his shoulders crowd and his fucking perfect abs tense to speed up the pace because, for some reason, he just complies when Adam begs him to go faster, to please hold him down, just like that, _like that, God, yes --_

That’s how he’ll die (again): fantasising about being fucked boneless by his (im)mortal enemy. The Milligans did not die for this

Adam spares a glance at Castiel’s perpetually soft frown expressing, ‘Anytime this century, human.’

Instead, Adam groans in tight frustration, storming off in search of a cold shower. “Never mind.”

He’ll figure this bullshit out himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Michael totally planted that phone, there was no accident. He knows what it takes to avert the apocalypse.
> 
> It's weird, the stories you find when cleaning out your Google drive. I decided to clean this up and throw it out there because, what better way to clear the writer's block than accidental sex tapes? Forever nostalgic about these baes: I may quit SPN fandom, but I'll never quit you.


End file.
